


YOUR NAME IN MY PRAYERS

by YvonnePersonne



Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: ;), Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, Loss of Virginity, Priest Kink, Priest Macarena Ferreiro, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, and then there's just Zulema being her authentic self
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonnePersonne/pseuds/YvonnePersonne
Summary: Leaning in, Macarena feels warm air on her face, and for a fraction of a second she is expecting Zulema to kiss her, but then she moves her head to the side and puts her lips right by her ear.“I’ve always had a knack for obtaining the unobtainable.” She whispers.-Macarena is a priest, the wondrous spark of everything divine having turned bleak when suddenly a dark-haired mystery sneaks her way into her life.Is this woman really who she seems to be, or is something more at play?
Relationships: Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir
Comments: 20
Kudos: 53





	1. Pia pium ; honest, godly, holy

Another sermon, another day gone by. The few people that had bothered to show up are filtering through the doors, Macarena’s cheeks physically hurting from the fake smile she has plastered on her face as she bids them goodbye. 

As the last head of grey hair leaves the church, Macarena’s posture and smile instantly falls along with a breath of relief.  As the people coming had decreased along with their overall interest in religion, Macarena’s spark for it had lost its gleam. 

She remembered how passionate she was about it in her younger years, but now it all felt so bleak, so uninteresting. 

Macarena closes the big wooden port with a deep thud and rests her head on the dry material, feeling a slight headache coming on. With a sigh, she turns around to enter her little office to start writing on yet another pointless sermon before going home. Her shoes echo through the vast space, the already intimate feeling of the church intensifying with the only light sources coming from a thousand flickering candles. 

Macarena has taken in its glory many, _many_ times but she will never _not_ be in awe of its beauty. High arching ceilings with intricate patterns you could get lost in, and pillars seemingly reaching for the sky, with small statues adorning the sides. Even if you didn’t believe in God, you simply had to take a moment to soak in the detailed work. 

Macarena is just about to take the few steps up to the altar when the big ports behind her creak open, and she turns her head.

Few people stayed after a sermon, but Macarena wasn’t opposed to the idea that someone might be in need of consolation or any other kind of help. In fact, it was exactly what she wanted. A kindred soul to share that bond of interest and understanding of religion.

A woman with deep, dark hair steps into Macarena’s view, and she looks like the last type of person Macarena expected to see. She expected yet another 70 year old or perhaps someone in their early 40’s, but this woman looked like she could be what, 30? 

Their eyes meet from across the hall and- is that a tattoo under her eye?

Yeah,  _ definitely  _ the last type of person Macarena expected.

“ _ Hola _ ,” Macarena says, and fully turns her attention and body to the black-clad woman.

“ _ Hola _ ,” A velvety voice answers.

“Can I help you with anything?” Macarena takes a few steps forward as the other woman starts walking towards her. Something in the look in her eyes- or was it the way she was clad?- screamed of danger, yet one that invited you to look closer.

“Maybe,” The woman mumbles cryptically. She was now standing right in front of Macarena, and all the blonde could think of was how attractive- objectively of course- and  _ interesting  _ this woman looked. 

They are visually the complete opposite. Macarena with her white robe, fit for mass, and blonde hair, the woman in front of her with sharp kohl-lined eyes, attire fit for a punk rocker and hair as dark as the sky outside. She looked like the personification of the word ‘intense'. 

She could feel a rare, yet unmistakable, sort of  _ intrigue  _ settle inside of her, instantly making her want to put distance between them, physically and mentally.

Macarena clears her throat when she notices she’s been staring for too long, and a flash of amusement is visible in green eyes, “Well, in any case, I’m Mother Macarena.” She extends her hand, and slender fingers grasp her own.

“Zulema Zahir,” The woman releases her hand, the double Z’s sounds exotic to Macarena’s ears, but then so does her voice and she briefly thinks how she wouldn’t mind listening to it for hours. The thought makes Macarena feel the need to take a step back, what was it with this woman? The ends of her nerves seem to crackle and sparkle where smooth skin has touched her own, and curious eyes peer into her own making her feel naked.

“Didn’t know female priests were called ‘mother’, assumed they just stuck to  _ father _ ,” Zulema’s eyes gleam with mischievousness. Something about the intonation of ‘father’ made a few very  _ un _ holy images flash through Macarena’s mind, and Macarena has to fight against a small blush threatening to colour her cheeks.

“No, well,” Macarena clears her throat, “it depends on the person really.” Macarena tries, ever the diplomat. Zulema raises her eyebrows slightly, dark brows momentarily disappearing under her fringe.

“Depends? So I could call you  _ Father Macarena _ if I wanted to?” With the sound of her name on the woman's tongue along with the implication, Macarena couldn’t force away the blush no matter how much she wanted to.

“Maybe you could just…” She swallows,  _ help me, dear God _ , “Stick to Mother Macarena.”

Zulema chuckles briefly, and decides to end the other woman's misery, “ _ Vale _ .” 

There’s a slight pause until Zulema speaks up again.

”I’m actually not Christian,” Zulema begins and Macarena almost sighs in relief, finally something to shift her mind's focus to, “I’m Muslim.”

“Oh?” As if Macarena’s interest in the other woman hadn’t already peaked.

“I’ve always found religion interesting,” Zulema admits and breaks eye contact as if the confession was a little bit embarrassing, “I was just wondering if I could get a tour of the place, maybe some history if you know any?” Zulema brings her gaze back up, and whilst her face has, for the most part, stayed relatively blank except for small changes in her eyes, she looks genuinely expectant. 

At her wish, Macarena can barely contain her joy.  _ Finally,  _ someone was interested in religion, she could for once share her knowledge.

“ _ Sí, claro _ ,” Macarena answers and beams at Zulema.

Zulema had no idea what she was doing, well, that was a half-lie. She had  _ some  _ idea, but she hadn’t expected to be caught up by this blonde, and yet she lets herself be guided around the church. 

Macarena points at the statues on the pillars and tells her their names, who they depict and why. Zulema walks to one of them and traces it with her eyes.

The survivor inside of her told her that it was unwise to make contact with anyone this long, but now that the blonde had started to talk, Zulema had an inkling it’d be hard to get her to stop. Besides, she’s already made contact, what’s the damage in hearing what she had to say?

When Macarena suddenly grows quiet Zulema turns her head to see the blonde watching her akin to the way she had just watched the statue in front of her.

Zulema smirks knowingly and Macarena spins around to continue where she left off, the collar hugging her neck suddenly feeling too tight. 

“The history of this particular church is a bit muddied…” Macarena continues as she walks through the large halls, “it is believed that a gang that existed for many centuries hid here, in the lower parts of the church.” Macarena chuckles, “but those are just rumours.” 

She idly comments it without giving it much thought before continuing on, not noticing how Zulema’s interest had peaked at her previous comment.

Suddenly Zulema cuts Macarena off mid-sentence, “Can I see it?” 

Macarena turns around to face Zulema and raises an eyebrow in question.

“The lower parts of the church.” Zulema clarifies, hoping that she manages to sound less eager than she was.

Macarena seems surprised, but she was not exactly against the idea.

“Sure, but…” She wanted to know more about this woman, even though her mind was screaming to stay away. The way Zulema seemed to latch onto whatever Macarena was saying made something gnaws at the back of her mind. 

“May I ask you a question?” 

Zulema squints her eyes in suspicion. The blonde didn’t recognise her, did she?

“So long as I remain the right not to answer,” She answers and Macarena chuckles lightly at her seriousness. She pauses, and takes a step forward to see Zulema’s face better, she doesn’t want to miss a single expression.

“Are you running from something?”  _ A bit on the nose, _ Zulema thinks.

If Zulema’s fight or flight response kicks in, it doesn’t show, as she only tilts her head back,

“ _ ¿ _ _ Por qué? _ ” 

Zulema suddenly feels hyper-aware of the gun digging into her back, yet for some reason, she feels repulsed at the idea of having to use it on this wo-  _ in a holy building _ , Zulema corrects herself.

“You seem…” Macarena could feel the waves of danger radiating from Zulema, and knew she had to use her words well even if she didn’t know the reason behind it, “In need of a distraction.”

Not exactly what Zulema had expected, but she instantly feels more relaxed. 

However, she then realizes that the priest expects her to open up, which only removes her previous relief.

“I… Guess you can say that,” Zulema mumbles, as her mind switches away from her original objective to some unwanted memories.

Macarena looks patiently at her to see if she will continue, but when it becomes clear she won’t, Macarena leaves it be.

“If you’re in need of guidance I can be of help, but I won’t force you,” Zulema looks relieved that she won’t have to threaten the woman to not push further and only hums as an answer. 

“The lower part of the church then?” Macarena says and starts walking towards the altar again and Zulema follows quietly behind. A bit away from the steps to the altar, there are two doors to the right. Revealing a set of keys from her garment, Macarena opens the door on the left and reveals a passageway with a staircase going down. Zulema takes note of where the keys are inside of a neatly hidden pocket on Mother Macarena's robe.

Macarena grabs one of the already-lit torches on the wall and starts walking down the stairs, and hearing the woman behind her she starts rattling off the history of the church again.

As they reach the end of the stairs, Zulema is greeted by a vast room with thick columns supporting the ceiling. It wasn’t as intricate as the main hall, but if you looked closely enough in the walls and ceilings, you’d see small decorations and depictions. 

“This was mostly used for nuns back in the day, but now it’s rarely visited. Sometimes there are private ceremonies, but that is rare.”

Zulema runs her fingers over a nearby wall, feeling the dust and mostly smooth surface, except for the small bumps of carved depictions of various people.

She recognises one carving as Eve being tempted by the serpent in the Garden of Eden, and smirks. 

Zulema came what she needed to get, and now that she got it she just needed to make her leave. However, a little idea had been planted in her head as soon as she had noticed the way the very  _ holy  _ Mother Macarena had watched her every movement. 

As if Zulema was tempting the priest to _ give in  _ with her mere existence. 

“Ever been tempted by something seemingly  _ irresistible _ , Mother Macarena?” Zulema asks and turns her focus from the carving to the woman again. 

Taking a step forward, Zulema invades Macarena’s personal bubble, and her intentions click into place in Macarena’s head.

She feels a flurry of conflicting emotions run through her, the most noticeable being anger.  _ Flirting  _ with a priest?  _ Really _ ? And yet, she could feel her own body betraying her  _ and  _ the oath she swore years ago.

Her feet stay rooted in place, a small frown colouring her face, not knowing how to approach this situation.

Zulema’s small smirk from before grows bigger at the clear way Macarena’s mind was running circles around itself. Feeling bold, she takes another step, and she sees how Macarena’s eyes widen slightly at their proximity.

Leaning in, Macarena feels warm air on her face, and for a fraction of a second she is expecting Zulema to kiss her, but then she moves her head to the side and puts her lips right by her ear. She feels a light hand on her waist, making her feel almost dizzy.

“I’ve always had a knack for obtaining the unobtainable.” She whispers. 

Pulling back she locks her gaze onto Macarena’s before turning on her heel and walking up the stairs, leaving behind a _very_ confused Macarena. 


	2. Hesito (Haesito) ; to be unsure, uncertain, wavering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise for Zulema, and Macarena finds herself more and more at a loss with what to do with the older mystery that has come creeping into her life.

Zulema swirls the keys in her hands, a satisfied grin on her face as she walks out of the church. She hadn’t imagined that the priest would be so easily distracted, but now she had access to the church, or rather the secluded and rarely visited part of it. She’d just have to make a mold of the key and sneakily ‘return’ it some other time.

Zulema chuckles to herself imagining what Saray and Altagracia would say had they seen her flirt with Mother Macarena. Saray would surely have been proud, and Alta silently impressed.

Shaking the thought out of her head, she fishes her phone out of her pocket. She’d been way more efficient than anticipated, as the original idea had been substantially more illegal, which meant that she had time to herself before she was expected to return to the girls. 

For a job well done, and to shake off the nerves of anticipation to their nearing heist, Zulema thought it was wise to find a brief distraction, so she locates the nearest club on her phone and makes her way through the night.

\- 

Stepping through the doors, rhythmic beats melt away layers of pent up stress from Zulema’s body and she feels her soul hum in appreciation of the familiar energy of the club.

Dancing half-naked feminine bodies pleases her eyes, and a rare urge to feel their skin under her fingers takes over her senses. She doesn’t usually crave the touch of a woman, but the feeling wasn’t exactly new. What use is there to confining yourself to one thing, when you can have more? Zulema has never been one to deny herself of pleasure, so making her way to the bar she decides to scope out her potential prey.

She grabs the bartender's attention with a sharp wolf-whistle, and orders a whiskey on the rocks.

He slides over the golden liquid, and bringing the glass to her lips, the taste hits the back of her throat perfectly. She licks her lips, not missing a single drop of the drink and turns her attention back to the sea of dancing people.

She is surprised to see a blonde already watching her with vigor. A tight black dress hugs her features, and something in the look in her eyes reminds Zulema of the blonde she had met before. The way they both look at her as if they could say yes to whatever she said. 

Zulema knew  _ exactly  _ what the blonde wanted her to do to her, if the way her body is moving is anything to go by. Not one to waste time, Zulema downs the rest of her drink and slides a crisp bill over the counter. Seeing Zulema stand up, the blonde smirks and turns around, leaving out the back door. 

In a matter of minutes Zulema has the stranger backed up to the brick wall outside, hand buried in light locks.

However, knuckle deep inside the blonde, Zulema realises that something was missing. 

The chase was  _ too  _ easy, the taste of the moaning mess in front of her not as savory as she both hoped and craved. And, it didn’t take a lot to realise why, and what- or rather who- she wanted instead. However, who she wanted she couldn’t have, at least not yet. So she makes do with the woman in front of her, currently at her fingertips mercy. 

Zulema bites at her neck, and if she concentrates the moans could be coming from another blondes mouth, the wet folds around her fingers could belong to someone else. And when the woman comes violently on her hand, she can imagine that the twitches coming from her body comes from the woman she knows is just a few hundred meters away. 

-

Zulema steps into the camping van around the time when she was expected. They always put time estimates, so the rest of the group would know if something was up.

Zulema spots Saray and Altagracia lazily playing cards on the small table and cramped couches, and as soon as Saray sees Zulema she perks up.

“You’re back, any troubles?” She asks, and Altagracia turns her head towards her.

Zulema only shakes her head, fighting off her grin as she holds up the pair of keys she deftly grabbed from Macarena.

Saray’s eyebrows shoot up, “Are those the keys to-” and Zulema nods before Saray can ask.

“Joder!” Saray shoots up, “Good job Zulema!” She grabs them out of Zulema’s hand.

“I’ll go make copies immediately.” She says and scurries away to the bedroom where she has her stuff.

Zulema takes off her shoes and bomber jacket, and turns into the kitchen right by the main living space in the camping van to make a cup of coffee and something to eat.

“What did you have to do to find a key to the church?” Zulema turns her head to see Altagracia watching her with a curious gaze.

Zulema gives her a noncommittal shrug, “ _ Nada,”  _ A slight pause, “Just seduce a priest.” She says as she opens the fridge.

Altagracia chuckles and Zulema glances at her, and seeing Zulema trying to force down a smug grin, Altagracia realizes she’s serious. Altagracias mouth opens slightly, before she huffs and starts snickering.

“ _ Joder _ , since when did you seduce people?” 

Saray walks in and hears only the last part of Altagracia’s question, “Qué? Seduce?” She asks with furrowed eyebrows.

“Sí, Zulema here has turned into a real player, seducing a  _ priest _ .” Altagracia laughs a rare laugh and Saray joins quickly, “ _ ¿ _ Tu  _ que? _ ”

Zulema only shrugs and grabs a few condiments from the fridge, “You do what you gotta do, right?”

Saray fake wipes a tear from her eye, “I’m so proud, my Zule has become a real  _ hija de puta. _ ” She says and puts a hand to her heart. 

Zulema slaps her lightly on the arm, “ _ Callate. _ ” Zulema says with laughter in her voice.

-

Macarena practically throws her priest clothes off when she gets home, having spent too much time in them and slips comfortably into a loose t-shirt, the soft cool fabric feeling like a breath of fresh air on her skin. She sighs and runs a hand down her face, closing her eyes. Her mind almost instantly conjures up the image of the woman she met before, and the feeling between her legs that comes when she imagines the way Zulema peering into her eyes startles her eyes open again.

_ Fuck _ .

The word repeats in her mind like a chant, a prayer. 

She’s been doing  _ so  _ good her entire life, it wasn’t like Zulema was the first person to flirt with her, nor the first to ignite something inside the blonde. But never has it been so immediate. 

A feeling of unease settles deep in Macarena’s gut, maybe this was God’s way to test her faith?

That  _ maybe  _ replaces the word  _ fuck  _ in her mind and floats in her mind, thoughts way too loud for the dark of her room.

Deciding that she’ll deal with this later- she might never see Zulema again anyway- she forces her mind to stay quiet.

Too exhausted to make dinner, and yet too strung up with the throbbing between her legs, she decides to take a cold shower.

The water hits her back like needles and soaks her curls, it melts away her uncertainty and the pulsation that she had felt. She will be okay, and whatever happens, who can say it wasn’t part of God’s plan anyway?

She steps out of the shower, lazily squeezing the water out of her hair with a towel.

Despite trying to force away any thoughts of the dark haired woman, her presence lingers on Macarena. The hand she had placed on her waist, the breaths that had slid over her face and tickled her ear when she whispered her little promise, seemed to leave dents on Macarena, as if her being had marked her.

_ Marked her _ makes flashes of teeth biting at Macarena’s flesh come across her mind, and the throbbing she had thought she eliminated come back in an instant. Frustrated, she drops the towel on the floor and steps right back into the shower.

She doesn’t step out until her lips turn blue, and the freezing cold and exhaustion drown out any remaining thoughts.

-

The coming days for Zulema and the rest of the girls are ones out of high suspension. Meetings with unreliable sources for guns and equipment, memorising not only the inside of the jewelry store they were robbing, but also the church, marksman training and whilst also maintaining their health so that they can keep their focus at the height of tension. 

The plan was to turn off the security cameras and systems, release sleeping gas through the ventilation system, then run in and grab as much from the entire store and its rich patrons before running and hiding in the church until things became quiet. The church also acted as a secondary location where they could regroup if anything went wrong.

The trio had done multiple successful and not-so-successful hits across the country, which meant they had their own team latched onto their asses, the head of investigation being Inspector Castillo, who knew she was Muslim and would probably turn a blind eye to a church. Especially one close to the scene of the crime, as every other time he was close, the trio would run as far as possible. The plan was practically perfect, at least so Zulema thought, but she wasn’t naive. She was painfully aware of how dangerous and risky all of their heists were, and she didn’t waste a second thinking otherwise.

It was only a few days away now, and the stress from the past few days were catching up to the older woman, making her slower than wanted.

But thankfully, she had an idea of what to do to take her edge off.

-

Macarena hears her voice reciting the sermon she wrote yesterday, but it doesn’t feel like her own. Her thoughts are far away from what she’s supposed to be focused on, but the practically non-existent crowd doesn’t seem to notice, or care. 

Even if she herself had thought that she might never see Zulema again, she found herself disappointed every time another day passed with no sight of the woman. She chided herself that it was a  _ good  _ thing, that it would be disastrous if she saw her again, considering how affected she had gotten from just their brief meeting. But she can’t help herself, even if Zulema never laid another finger on her, Macarena was enchanted by the way she spoke and mind worked. She had seen so little, and the taste she got of her intellect made her crave more.

Even as a young child she had been drawn to the mysterious, to danger. 

She’d watch the flames in the fireplace of her childhood home for hours until her mom told her to do something else, eat dinner, do homework, anything. Yet as she’d sit there, she found that it seemed like the flames licking at her skin begged and whispered to her to get closer. And when she scraped her knees, she didn’t cry or scream, she just watched the blood drip from her skin in wonder until an adult came and fussed over her, telling her to be more careful.

It wasn’t that she wanted to feel pain, or hurt herself, she was just so fascinated.

This new flame that was Zulema seemed more dangerous than any actual flames though, and she could almost hear her mother chiding her to be careful and to stay away.

She suddenly messes up a line when she spots a familiar face sitting at the back of the nave. She flushes and tries to find where she got lost, and when she finally gets her footing back, she accidentally makes eye-contact with Zulema, and bristles to see her fully grinning. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and it’s making Macarena want to leave the altar and wipe that grin off of her face with some unholy techniques, the images in her mind almost making her lose track of what she’s saying  _ again _ .

Curse this bloody woman.

Macarena speeds through the rest of her lines so that she can go to the woman still snickering to herself at the back of the church, a piece of her mind. Flirting with a priest, then disappearing for multiple days, only to show up at such an inconvenient time? It was like she  _ wanted  _ to piss her off.

Finally done, Macarena steps down the altar to make her way to the big ports to bid the few people that bothered to show up goodbye, decidedly not making eye-contact with Zulema as she passes her. 

When the last person finally leaves, Macarena’s polite smile falls instantly and she turns around, and almost yelps because Zulema is standing  _ so  _ close. Way too easy to just reach out and  _ touch _ , and Macarena almost does, but draws her hand away before Zulema can notice, not unlike the way she would do when forcing her hand away from flames.

“ _ Hola _ ,” Zulema greets, unusually civilised, even though it’s just one word.

“Don’t you  _ hola _ me,” she almost also blurts out  _ after you’ve been gone for multiple days _ , but realises that’s way too ‘intimate’ for someone she’s just met once. But really, did she have to go and flirt with her then leave? It wasn’t Macarena’s fault that she was frustrated at Zulema’s absence. Zulema doesn’t seem to mind though as she only chuckles.

“Is that usually the way you speak to people as a priest, Mother Macarena?” Macarena only scoffs and walks by her.

Her shoes echo in the church and the sound feels too loud and too quiet at the same time, until Zulema suddenly calls out-

“Are you mad that I’ve been gone?” Macarena hears the smugness in her voice, and yet the comment makes her halt. She can hear Zulema come up behind her, “I’ve been very busy these past few days.” The older woman doesn’t say it with any malice, but it makes Macarena’s stomach sink and guilt creep in. She doesn’t know Zulema, has absolutely no idea what she does during the day, and she was extremely full of herself for believing that Zulema had been gone on purpose. She turns around to face the woman again, her gaze softer than before, and a silent apology passes between them, even though they’re practically strangers and it didn’t really matter, Macarena reminds herself.

“Although I do like your fiercer side,” Zulema grins again, “Not exactly what I expected from a typical priest.”

Macarena only huffs, and turns back to make her way to the altar to grab her things. 

Zulema falls quiet again, and Macarena’s thoughts drown out the silence. Before she can stop herself, she finds herself asking the main thing that had echoed in her mind since she saw Zulema, “Why are you here?”

She glances up from the altar to see Zulema quirking an eyebrow, “ _ Que _ ? A woman can’t enjoy a sermon?”

Macarena shakes her head with a light smile, not really having expected a serious answer anyway.

“Because I wanted to see you again,” Zulema eventually says. It catches Macarena off guard, and she snaps her gaze up.

Clearing her throat and putting a stray lock between her ear, “Oh,” She mutters.

The unease she had felt the other day creeps back upon her, and she clears her throat.

Grabbing hold of her papers and bible from the altar, she steps down.

“Well, I’ll be in the confession booth later, and if you need to book anything you can speak to one of the nuns here.” There were few nuns, but they were here and there, but Macarena felt disconnected from them. She’d regard them the same way she would the intricate decorations on the ceiling; A vital part of the church, but seemingly far from reach. 

Zulema frowns slightly at her formality, as if she was suddenly another boring church goer, and Macarena can feel her act instantly start to crumble.

She sighs and deflates, “Look Zulema,” She runs a hand through her hair, “I’m not stupid.” She gestures briefly annoyed with her hand. “Flirting with a priest? Unwise.” 

Zulema doesn’t look one bit remorseful as she gazes at Macarena, and it makes the younger woman acutely aware of all her movements.

“Our Gods,” Zulema begins, “are not so different, but I like to believe that Allah- whomever He may be- created us just the way we were supposed to be,  _ No _ ? And who is He to deny us any pleasures that may come along in life?” She almost whispers at the end-

Macarena closes her eyes and frowns, “ _ Zulema, _ that’s not how-”

“ _ He _ created our bodies, so why not use them to their full extent?” Zulema takes a step forward, and Macarena’s eyes open and her breath hitches. She makes a compelling argument, but the blonde’s mind screams at her not to give in, that this was just God testing her faith. Zulema’s eyes bore into her own, and Macarena finds herself wanting to trace the tattoo under her eye, and ask where it comes from, finds herself wanting to see what Zulema looks like under her baggy hoodies, what secrets she has hidden so carefully inside of herself. But then Zulema steps away, “But if you’re so against it and so for your faith, who am I to change your views.” She says with a wide shrug and one of her by-now familiar smirks.

_ Damn this woman. _

Macarena exhales a breath she hadn’t realised she had been holding and shakes her head, what the hell was she supposed to do with Zulema Zahir?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just realised I should've called Macarena Madre Macarena instead of Mother Macarena, but feels weird to change it when I've already released two chapters, oh well. Hope you all liked this new chapter, I know it has been a while but now I have time to actually update (which means more of my other story, Endings & Beginnings) soon as well. Please comment down below, I love hearing all of your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if this is anything anyone would want to read but here we are, with yet another AU. Oh well, if you have feedback I'd love to hear it in the comments!


End file.
